His Best Friend's Sister

by Sarah M. Anderson

  When her body bucked in response to his gentle tug on her nipples, he felt it down to his toes. When she moaned as he rolled those nipples between his thumb and forefinger, he moaned with her. He couldn’t help it. Her pleasure was his.

  She was his.

  “Look at you,” Oliver breathed as he stared at Renee’s reflection in the window. Her mouth was open as she panted, her eyes heavy-lidded. It had almost killed him to watch the light in her eyes die a little when, instead of taking her right back to bed, he’d told her they were leaving.

  He wanted to see the Renee who managed to get the upper hand on him, who laughed at his corny jokes, who wasn’t afraid of anything—she was the Renee he wanted back. He’d do anything to make her smile again.

  The moment the thought crossed his brain, he was stunned by the truth of it.

  He would do anything for her.

  “You feel so wonderful,” he told her as he let the full weight of her breasts fill his palms. “But I need to see these. I need to see all of you.”

  She inhaled sharply as he skimmed his hands down her ribs and over her hips to the hem of her T-shirt. But when he started to lift, she stopped his hands. “I don’t... What if someone sees?”

  “No one can see in these windows. That’s one of the reasons I’ve bought this condo.”

  She didn’t let him strip off her shirt. If anything, her grip on his hands tightened. “But...”

  Oliver dragged his attention away from the reflection of her chest in the window and looked at her face. The sensual glaze of desire was gone, leaving her face drawn and tight. Then, somewhere far in the distance, a light blinked. It was probably a helicopter or something that was at least a few miles away, but Renee gasped as if someone had flown a drone into the window and started snapping pictures.

  Right.

  He kissed the side of her neck and then bent over, sweeping her legs out from under her. “Oliver!” she squeaked in alarm.

  “I’m being a terrible host,” he said, holding her tight against his chest. “I haven’t even given you the tour yet.”

  “Oh?” She relaxed into him, her arms going around his neck. “I saw the living room.”

  “But not the kitchen,” he said, walking right past the doorway on his left.

  “It’s lovely,” she murmured and then her lips were against his neck. “I look forward to spending time there.”

  “Office,” he ground out through gritted teeth as he carried her past the dark doorway on his right.

  “It suits you perfectly,” she agreed without looking. Then she began to suck.

  His knees almost gave. “Guest room.” Another fifteen steps—he could make it.

  “Is that where I’m staying?” Her teeth skimmed over his skin with the barest hint of pressure.

  Take what you need, he wanted to tell her. Hell, he wanted to shout it. “No,” he groaned, all but staggering into his master suite. Dimly, he was aware this was supposed to be a slow, steady seduction where all the focus was on her. “For as long as you want, you’re staying here with me.”

  “I...”

  “Tell me,” he all but begged. His body was on fire for hers but he didn’t want to presume a single damned thing. “Tell me what you want.”

  She leaned back and gave him that smile, the exact same grin she’d launched at him seconds before she’d shoved him into the pond. It made him want to yell with victory.

  “I want you.” Then she bit him—not hard, but it sent a jolt of need through him unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

  He couldn’t even make it to the bed along the far wall. He all but dropped her in front of the door to his walk-in closet.

  The door covered with a full-length mirror.

  He paused only long enough to reach over and flip on the light. The drapes were pulled and no one would be able to see anything he did to her.

  And he was going to do it all.

  When the lights flickered on, she gasped. But he was already pulling her T-shirt over her head. “God, Renee,” he whispered, starting where he’d left off at her breasts. This time, he tugged on her nipples a little harder and was rewarded with a shudder. “You truly take my breath away.”

  “I do?”

  It just about broke his heart to hear the doubt in her voice. She truly didn’t see it.

  This was a problem—but he had the solution. He’d make her believe she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or he’d die trying. And given how much he was aching for her, she might be the death of him.

  With the last of his control, he spun her around. For the second time today, he hooked his fingers into her pants and pulled, baring her. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Because the sight of her bottom begging for his touch really was going to kill him.

  So he touched. He slid his hands down her full hips and then to her backside, where he dug his fingers into her generous flesh. She shuddered at his touch. Good. “I’m...I’m getting an idea.”

  “Not good enough. You need to know how badly I want you.”

  But when he looked in the mirror, he could see her struggling. “Oliver...”

  “Babe.” It was rude to interrupt her but he could see that she was going to do something terrible, like ask if they could turn the lights off and hide under the covers and he couldn’t let her think that there was a single thing about her he didn’t want. “Watch,” he commanded, falling to his knees so he could skim his teeth over the soft skin of her bottom. “Watch what you do to me. Watch what I do to you.” Then he bit her. Not hard enough to bruise. He’d never hurt her. But he needed her to stop thinking and start feeling.

  It worked. She sucked in a ragged gasp as he kissed the sting away and slid his hand between her legs.

  Slow. He needed to take this slow. Because...reasons. Good ones, he was pretty sure.

  But those reasons were lost to him as Renee shifted her legs apart for him. She put her hands on the mirror, her gaze moving from Oliver to where he was touching her and back again. He could see her surrendering to her needs—her eyes growing darker, her chest heaving as her breath came faster and faster.

  He dug deep for words that were more than just mine. “Do you see how pretty you are?” he asked quietly, kissing his way up her back. “Do you see how luscious you are?” He cupped her bottom and squeezed. “God, I love your body.”

  “Even though...”

  If she was trying to convince him that he couldn’t want her because someone had told her she was fat, he was going to lose it.

  He surged to his feet. “Renee. Look.” He gripped her by the chin—again, gently—and turned her face so she had no choice but to look in the mirror. “I don’t care what anyone else says. I only see you. I see your beautiful eyes and your delicate collarbone,” he said, letting his hand drift down to that bit of skin. “And your breasts. God, your breasts.” He cupped them again. Since he couldn’t kiss them from this angle, he settled for kissing her neck—which he did without breaking eye contact in the mirror. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Don’t tease,” she said but at the very least, it came out as a breathy sigh. “I’m sorry I pushed you in the pond.”

  “I’m not.” That moment when she’d fought for herself had been glorious.

  That was what she needed to do right now—fight for herself. “This is the only way I’d tease you, darling.” He slid one hand over the swell of her stomach again and down between her legs. “God, do you see how pretty you are? See how your eyes darken with want?”

  “Yes,” she moaned, her head dropping back on his shoulder. But she didn’t look away as he tormented her nipples, her sex.

  He thrust his hips against her backside, his erection chafing behind his pants. “Do you feel what you do to me?” This was where they’d been earlier at the window before she’d a
llowed doubt to crowd out desire. She sagged against him, bearing down on his hand, but he wrapped his free arm around her waist and held her up. “Look at you,” he said, breathing hard as he stared at where he was touching her. “Look at us.”

  “Oliver,” she said, her voice straining.

  He pulled back only long enough to shove his pants aside. “Feel what you do to me?” he moaned against her skin.

  Then she reached back and circled him with her hands. When she gripped him tightly, he had to brace himself against the mirror to keep from falling to his knees again. “Who else gets you like this?”

  “You. Only you.”

  Her hand slipped lower to cup him. “No wife? No mistress or...” She squeezed and he made a noise that might be considered undignified, but he didn’t give a single damn. “Or a girlfriend?”

  He shook his head, trying to think. But what she was doing to him—there was no thinking. “Nine months—no, eight. Eight months since my last lady friend.” Her grip shifted again and he was helpless to do anything but thrust into her hands.

  “What am I, Oliver?” Her voice was so soft that he had to look at her. “What am I to you?”

  Not a wife, obviously. But the moment that thought crossed his mind, he had to close his eyes against it.

  He’d never wanted to get married. Never wanted to bring someone into his messy family life. He had enough responsibilities—how could he add a wife or children to managing his father and running Lawrence Energies and, who could forget, the damned rodeo? How much more did he have to give, when there was so little of himself left over?

  But Renee was already a part of his family. She had been for years.

  “Am I your mistress?” she went on and he heard an edge to her voice, one that made him want to weep with joy.

  She was fighting back.

  “No,” he ground out when she gave him an extra-firm squeeze. Not that he wanted to think about her cheating, lying ex right now, but he realized on a fundamental level that she had to make sure. “Not a mistress. Not a... Oh, God,” he groaned as she stroked him. “Not a girlfriend, either.” That wasn’t a strong enough word for what she meant to him.

  “Then what am I?” Her voice was quiet but there was no mistaking it—she had him in the palm of her hand. Literally.

  When she reached back with her other hand, Oliver’s restraint cracked. He grabbed her by the wrists. “I can’t wait,” he growled as he pushed her hands against the mirror. “Don’t move.”

  He grabbed the condom from his pants and frantically ripped it open. He nudged her legs apart and then slid into her warmth with one long thrust. They both moaned.

  Mine. It was all he could think as he grabbed Renee by the hips and buried himself in her over and over again. It wasn’t slow or sweet or tender. The way he took her was raw and hard and heaven help him, he loved it.

  She loved it. Her hands on the mirror, she bent forward at the waist and thrust her backside up and out, just enough that she could see his face unobstructed in the mirror. And holding her gaze while he furiously pumped into her body was the singularly most erotic thing he’d experienced in his life.

  She moaned and then shouted, “Oh, God—Oliver!”

  “Renee,” he growled, digging his fingers into her skin, fighting the urge to mark her as his.

  She pushed back into his thrusts and cried out, her muscles clenching him so tightly that he couldn’t hold anything back. Not with her. She would always push him past the point of reason, past the cold grip of logic.

  He needed to do something. Something romantic, like whisper sweet words of promise in her ear. Something practical, like take care of the condom. Something, for God’s sake.

  “You destroy me, Renee” was what he came up with. “You simply destroy me.”

  Because Renee Preston-Willoughby had walked into his office and thrown everything ordered and planned about his life right out the window. His organized days of meetings? Gone. His long-term plans to grow Lawrence Energies—including the damned rodeo? Cast aside. His careful management of his family? Forgotten. His promise to his mother that he’d keep the family together? A distant memory.

  All that was left was this fierce need to be with Renee and protect her—and her unborn child.

  The destruction was complete.

  Because she was his, by God. And he was not letting her go.

  Ten

  Renee focused on keeping her breath steady and even. Okay, it was a little heavy because sex with Oliver was proving to be so much more than she was used to.

  That man had scandalously stood her in front of a mirror and made her believe—really believe—that she was pretty and desirable and worth the risk. He was worried about her and he wanted and needed her and he couldn’t keep his hands off her and it was perfect.

  Or it had been, right until he’d ruined it.

  Oh, she knew he hadn’t meant it as an insult or even a warning. But there was no mistaking that “you destroy me” for what it was—the truth.

  Because she would. Sooner or later, she would ruin him. Not on purpose. Never on purpose. But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Either she was going to do something accidental, like set fire to one or more of his homes, or word would get out about their connection and his reputation would be dragged through the mud.

  Knowing her luck, probably both. He thought he understood her messed-up family. But even if things went perfectly from here on out—the press left her alone or her baby’s delivery was textbook or Oliver continued to be wonderful?

  Her family would go on trial or her mother would find some way to ruin everything all the way from France because there was no way Rebecca Preston would approve of what Renee was doing. Preparing food? Doing the menial work of washing dishes? Doing something unladylike like pushing a friend into a pond and laughing out loud?

  She hoped no one from that fire department went to the press. If her mother could find a way to ruin the little bit of peace Renee was struggling to hold on to, she would. Just out of spite.

  She and Oliver were fogging the mirror up with their breaths. She didn’t want to move. She wanted to pretend like everything was fine.

  But she was tired of that, too. She’d spent years pretending and she wasn’t going to anymore. At least, she was going to try to not do it as much. She might have to ease into this whole total-honesty thing.

  But she definitely wasn’t going to let thoughts of her mother into this room. Rebecca Preston had abandoned Renee long before she’d decamped to Paris. It was high time Renee returned the favor.

  She pushed against the mirror and thankfully, Oliver backed up. She shivered from the loss of his body covering hers.

  She turned to go to the bathroom just in case she fell apart, but Oliver caught her hand.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  The smart thing to do would be to say no. He had a guest room. She was a guest.

  But then he added, “It’s whatever you want,” and her resolve buckled because honestly, she wanted to spend the night curled in his arms. Whatever this was, it would end badly for all parties involved—she didn’t have any doubt about that.

  But the fact was it was going to end badly no matter what. Maybe it was selfish and definitely shortsighted, but she wanted to hold on to this little bit of happiness while she could.

  So she brushed her lips against his and said, “I’ll stay,” because he’d done everything in his power to protect her. He’d made her feel good again. For heaven’s sake, he hadn’t even been that upset about the ruined cookies.

  By the time she finished in the bathroom, Oliver had carried her bag in. “You’re going to need more clothes,” he said absentmindedly as he stared at the solitary piece of her luggage.

  She didn’t exactly have the money for new things, so she said, “It’s not a big deal. I can do laundry.”


  Actually, she wasn’t sure she could but that had to be one of those things that came with instructions. At the very least, Lucille should be able to walk her through the process while minimizing fire hazards.

  Oliver looked up at her like she might be crazy. He must’ve taken advantage of the other bathroom because, while he had taken off his button-up shirt, he was still in his trousers and undershirt and she was completely nude. There was no missing the appreciative gleam in his eye but she was suddenly tired and feeling self-conscious. Her hands dropped to her thighs, covering the scars, but she thought she did so casually enough that he hadn’t noticed.

  If he wasn’t naked, she wasn’t going to parade about. The nightstand on the right side of his bed had the alarm clock, so she walked around to the other side and slid under the covers. She immediately felt better.

  “You’re just going to walk around braless? What happens when you need to leave the house?”

  That was a good question. Suddenly, she had a feeling that Oliver was going to insist that she allow him to buy her clothes.

  Because that’s who Oliver was. If he saw a problem, he was honor-bound to find a solution. She had enough clothes for a week—but in another few weeks, she’d be pushing her luck with the underwear. She had a month, tops, in her yoga pants. Maybe another month in her loose tunic tops. And Oliver was right—eventually, she’d need a bra again. But if anyone caught wind of Oliver buying maternity clothes...

  Destroyed. That was the only word for it.

  To distract him, she arranged herself on the bed in what she hoped was an inviting way, making sure to suck in her stomach while the sheet fell down off her hips—but stayed above the scars on her thighs. “I thought you requested I not leave.”

  “You’re not Rapunzel. I’m not going to lock you in a tower.” His eyes darkened as he looked her over. “Although it’s damned tempting to keep you all to myself for the weekend, at least.”

  Tempting. She liked that. She could still be tempting. And she could have him all to herself for the next few days. “What was that about the weekend?”